


Godsrealm

by Tia Hess (ANHathaway)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, God of Darkness - Freeform, God of Time, Guilt, Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Magic, Oral Sex, Original Mythology, Pining, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANHathaway/pseuds/Tia%20Hess
Summary: All works related to the Godsrealm Series.





	1. Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a larger piece I'm working on in a magical world I hope you'll all get to know and love.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated and please read the warnings!
> 
> Happy reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talia is just a simple young woman with simple ambitions -- until she finds out her family promised her to the mysterious and terrifying Shamanists. Her once simple life appears to be at its end...but not everything is always as it seems.

Every moment that passed was another that brought Talia closer the end of herself.

Behind her, the sun was setting, and she could feel the warmth draining from the early summer day as the shadows stretched out ahead of her. She was afraid. Part of that fear was because of what _might_ come—coyotes or wolves or mountain cats on the hunt would find her an easy target, after all—but most of her fear was because of what she knew _would_ come.

She looked up. There was a plank over her head, attached to a pole on either side of her. Her hands were tied to a hook that came down from the plank, her feet resting on cool, smooth stone. Actually, the stone was cooler than it should have been, given its exposure to the sun. Around her, in a perfect circle, were eight large stone tables. Altars. Each was decorated and colored differently, but all were identically sized and spaced.

One table for each of the gods of duality.

She tried to do as the Shamanists had instructed: use the silence and stillness and power of this place, the Allarston, to clear her mind, unburden her soul, and come to peace with the world. The altar, they’d said, existed on earth and in the godsrealm. Not just in one godsrealm, either, but in all of them at once. That meant that she was in a nexus of power, the portal between her world and the world beyond.

Talia wondered what magic flowed around and through her, undetectable to her save for the sense that all was not exactly as she was used to. She’d never experienced magic before. She’d only even seen it once, when her mother and younger brother had gotten sick shortly after his birth and her father had asked one of the Shamanists to come heal her.

She closed her eyes. That had cost them a lot. Her father had regretted the deal almost from the beginning, but at the time, she had disagreed with him. The price had been steep—half the year’s harvest and two cows—but what did that matter weighed against family? Her mother was alive, and little Caius would be six in the fall.

But of course, she hadn’t known the extent of the deal. By the time she’d learned that she had been part of it, it was much too late to take it back.

 

~

 

The Shamanists had come for her a month ago. In the weeks leading up to their arrival, her parents had fought frequently. She and her younger siblings had mostly ignored it; it wasn’t out of the ordinary. Their fighting had a rhythm: it started small, got worse and worse, and then one day both would come to breakfast with smiles on their faces. She and her siblings old enough to understand would give each other knowing looks, and then there would be peace for a time.

But that had not been the case this time. She hadn’t understood until the day her brothers had run in from the fields, fear and excitement mingled on their faces as they spoke over each other.

“The Shamanists!” Felix had shouted. “There are Shamanists coming up the road!”

“They had a big fancy carriage!” Cato said.

“Hush, boys,” said Adina. “Go find father and tell him. He’s in the pasture with Kat and Caius.”

As the boys hurried off, Talia was watching her mother. The woman hadn’t looked at her sons when they’d come inside. Indeed, she hadn’t looked up at all. Her face was hard, pinched, and she was utterly focused on the work in front of her.

“Mother?” Talia asked gently. She’d thought, then, that her mother was remembering the last visit from the Shamanists, how she and her youngest child had been so close to death.

“Adina, go away,” their mother said. Her voice was shaking but stern. Talia exchanged a look with her younger sister before the girl left the room. She heard the back door open and close again.

“Mother, are you okay?” Talia asked. “Can I get you some water?”

“No, stupid girl, I’m not okay.” Talia was horrified to realize that her mother was crying, something she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. Her mother looked up at her. “Go now and put on that dress I made you for your birthday.”

It was only then that Talia realized what was happening.

She thought of the dress, mostly white and far nicer than anything she would be able to wear except for special occasions. Her mother had said it was for her eventual marriage, but now she realized the hidden meaning in those words. She thought of the summer solstice, only a month away. And she thought of the deal her father had made almost six years ago.

Her head started to spin.

“So I am to be…” Her mother’s voice cut off her train of thought before she could complete it.

“You are to look presentable when they arrive at our door. You will treat them with the utmost courtesy. And you will go with them willingly or risk shaming this family.” The woman’s hands were shaking as she spoke, completely in opposition to her firm tone and straight back. “And you will hold your head high no matter what happens.”

In a daze, Talia went to the room she shared with her two younger sisters. On the night her mother had given it to her, she’d tried it on, giggled with her sisters about who she would eventually marry, and then folded it carefully to store in a trunk at the foot of her bed. Now she pulled it out, and those memories came rushing back to her. Memories of being a girl, memories of being a sister.

That time of her life was over.

The dress fit well but the wool was hot and itchy. She tried to ignore that as she brushed out her blonde hair and washed her face. When she went to the door, she heard voices coming from the other room. Her father must have come inside. He and her mother spoke in low tones, and she cracked the door open to listen.

“…anything to take it back, I’m so sorry, my love, please forgive me…” her father was saying. There were tears in his voice, and Talia might have registered the shock of that, as well, if her head hadn’t already been spinning.

“You’re a stupid man and a coward,” her mother answered, venom in her voice, “and I will never forgive you, not from now until the day I die. I would have died a thousand times and spent an eternity in Thule for her, for any of them.”

“I didn’t know--”

Talia heard the sharp sound of a slap.

“How dare you force me to live only to take my daughter from me? How dare you trade her life for mine because you’re too frightened of being alone?”

“I’m sorry, my love—”

Talia turned away from the door. Tears threatened, hot in the back of her throat, but she ignored them. She looked down at herself, then over at the window. She climbed through it, careful not to snag or dirty her white dress in any way.

She found her siblings around the back of the house, looking frightened and sad. They had also overheard their parents, clustered as they were around the back door. Felix was the first to see her. He burst into tears and ran to her, wrapping his arms around her.

“Talia, do you have to go?” Cato asked. He, too, was crying; they all were, except Caius, who was too young to understand what was happening.

“Yes,” she said, thinking of her mother. She straightened her back. “I’m going with the Shamanists.”

“Are you coming back?” Felix asked, at the same time as Cato said,

“To be this year’s offering?”

“It’s not fair,” Katriel said. Her voice was high and too loud. Adina pulled her into a hug, smoothing her hair down her back. Their eyes met over their younger sister’s head, Adina’s grave, Talia’s fearful.

Talia cleared her throat. “Listen here,” she said, pulling Felix away. She wiped under his eyes. “I love you very much, okay? I love you all.” She knelt down to kiss her younger brother’s cheeks. The other two boys came in close, and she kissed their cheeks as well. “Listen to Adina, okay? She’s the oldest now. And be good for mother and father.” She hugged her three youngest siblings. “Grow up strong, boys.”

Kat hugged her next, squeezing her tight and weeping into her chest. “Be good,” she told her sister. “You’re the smartest of us, so don’t let that get you into trouble. And look out for everyone else, okay?”

After she felt Katriel nod, she pulled away and looked at her oldest sibling. Adina’s dark eyes, the exact same shade as the ones in Talia’s face, were shining with tears and unspoken words. They embraced. The two girls—women—didn’t speak. She could feel her younger sister’s hand running up and down her back, trying to calm her. When she pulled back, Adina planted a kiss on her forehead.

Talia went back inside and heard voices at the door. She didn’t look at either of her parents, didn’t stop to hug them or to say goodbye. It would have been too much. Instead, she met the eyes of the closest Shamanist, an older woman in a white and gray robe.

“I’m ready,” she said.

 

~

 

Talia woke from her doze with a start. The shadows had disappeared now, the sun having fully set. The sky was darkening in front of her, its slow fade from blue to dark blue to black still coming too quickly. He would come at midnight, they’d told her. But already that wasn’t so far off; they were in the far north, where the nights began late and ended early.

She was further from home than she’d ever thought she would be. She missed her family with an almost physical ache, but over the past month, she’d thought of them very little. There’d been too much else to do and focus on.

The woman in white and gray robes who had retrieved her from her home had been the one to tie her hands only an hour or two ago. She’d been with Talia for her entire stay in the Temple of Raki. It was an eerily silent place, where people spoke in whispers if they spoke at all. Some of the Temple’s inhabitants, the Obidi, were mute. These men and women were the previous offerings to the gods, now half servant and half holy-people.

That, Talia was told, would most likely be her fate. She was to be the offering to the god of Time, the beginning of the nine-year cycle. He would do with her as he saw fit, and then he would take her voice and possibly her eyes, to keep her from telling another soul what happened between them. If he was displeased with her, he might kill her on the spot. If he was exceptionally pleased with her, he might take her into his realm to be his slave.

No matter the outcome, all meant the death of the Talia that was.

She shivered, from the fear and the chill in the air as the darkness grew around her.

Talia had learned many other things from the Shamanists as well, during her past few weeks with them. The Temple of Raki, a four day trip from her home, was full of books and secret knowledge. She’d learned the true names of some of the gods, as she’d passed by altars and heard Shamanists praying to them. What to her was the Lord of Nature was to the Shamanists “High Lord Satrin”. It might have made her giddy, to have such intimate knowledge of the gods, if she hadn’t been so frightened by the future.

She’d learned the prayer she was supposed to say when the god of Time first visited her. It was short, but even so she feared she might forget it and anger him. He was chief among the gods, and she was told that he was impatient, stern, and exacting. He was unflinching and unwavering in conflict.

But she would not be in conflict with him, would she? She didn’t want to be. She wanted to serve her purpose and continue on, even if that meant living as one of the Obidi. Would that be enough? Would he be kind to her, or at least as kind as an immortal would think it necessary to be to a human? Would he be gentle?

Would he approve of her?

No matter how many times she asked these questions, aloud or to herself, there were no answers. Only time would tell.

The vast majority of her time at the Temple had been about preparing her physically and spiritually to meet the god. She’d been given countless cleansing baths, teas, and rituals. They’d removed all her hair except for what grew on her head. They’d smoothed and scrubbed away any imperfections in her skin. They’d made her sit in meditation for hours every day and then massaged the tension out of her frame every evening.

She hadn’t had anything to eat in two days, only water and some kind of musky drink that made her appetite disappear and her body feel like it was vibrating.

The journey here had been long, over half a day on foot. Of course, her own feet hadn’t touched the ground all day. She’d been woken before light and bathed one final time. Only the Obidi were permitted to touch her afterward. Two of them, bigger men, had carried her between them on their walk out here. She’d closed her eyes to keep from crying.

She’d felt the Allarston before she’d seen it, its power spreading out like ripples on the water’s surface. It was frightening to look upon the first time, the chains and ropes hanging off of every table to keep the human offerings in place while they waited. But she wasn’t going to one of the tables. She wasn’t for one of the lesser gods.

They’d finally allowed her to stand on the stone beneath the central altar, where she was to wait for the god of Time. Her Shamanist had come forward, tied her hands above her, careful not to touch her skin. Then, once she was secured, the Obidi men had cut her clothes off of her. She’d flushed and hidden her face in one of her arms; it was her first time being naked in front of men, and it was no less mortifying if they did happen to be holy men.

They’d smoothed oils into her skin, starting with her feet and moving up her body slowly. To her horror, they even rubbed them into her inner thighs and the outer lips of her sex. There were a variety of oils; at different times she could smell lavender, citrus, spices, and other, earthier scents. Her hair, which had been pulled back and braided ornately after her bath, was smoothed over with oil that smelled strongly of basil and mint.

After it was over, they’d put her in a white, thin shift. She’d thought it was a skirt of some kind as she’d stepped into it, but it tied around her neck and went down to cover half of her thighs. She was grateful to be clothed again, and it must have shown on her face.

“He will take it off of you,” the Shamanist said. She had never been unkind to Talia, but she had no patience for softening the truth. “You are clothed only out of respect to Highest Lord Desdomon. But he will want to inspect all of you.”

They’d left shortly after, just as the sun had started to set. She knew they would come back in the morning, to see what became of her. If she was dead, they would give her a proper burial. If she was Obidi, they would take her back to the Temple to join her brothers and sisters. If she was gone…

She tried not to think of that.

Instead, she thought of her family once more. Because of her offering, they would be blessed for generations. Caius, her youngest sibling, would only remember her hazily, but the rest would keep her alive in the stories they told their children and grandchildren. In that way, she would stay in the family. In that way, a version of Talia would live on, even if this one didn’t.

With that thought, she drifted into another restless doze.

 

~

 

Talia woke again when she felt a stirring in the air. She blinked to clear the drowsiness from her eyes, but it wasn’t the sleep that made it difficult to see. It was full dark; more than that, the stars had gone, the sky completely black above her. Clouds? If so, they had to be thick, because no ambient light filtered through them from the stars above. It was so dark she couldn’t even see the circle of altars around her.

The pressure in the air mounted. It had to be stormclouds, then. She dreaded to think what it would be like to be left in the rain, but feared even more the possibility of a storm. What if the lightning struck her? Would that count as a rejection by the god of Time?

She pulled against the ropes that bound her hands above her head. The knot was tight, and when she pulled on it, it dug into the skin of her wrists and cut off circulation to her hands. She didn’t care. She pulled again, and again, hoping that something would give, something would slip, or she would manage to pull her hand out of the rope.

Around her, the world was humming, a deep sound that resonated through the ground, up through her feet and into her chest. Something was coming. _He_ was coming. And his imminent arrival stirred some deep fear in her, a mortal compulsion to shrink away from things bigger than her existence, from things she couldn’t possibly hope to comprehend.

She started to cry; it was clear now why no sacrifice, no matter how willing, was trusted to stay at the altar without being bound. Every part of her body told her to run and run fast, and her mind was in perfect accord that she must not be discovered by this thing, this man, this _god_. She pulled against her bonds until her arms screamed from the effort.

“Cease your struggling, child.”

The voice stopped her heart. It stopped everything; no longer was the world preparing for his appearance. He was here, and all was still, as if nature itself feared stirring in the divine presence that had manifested itself.

She tensed. The voice had come from behind; of course it had come from behind. She thought of the story her mother had told her of the girl in the woods. _The better to frighten you with, my dear._

Goosebumps rose up on her arms and back while her throat went dry.

Words, she thought. She was supposed to say something. What was it again?

“Oh highest and m-mightiest of Lords,” she said haltingly. She stuttered through the prayer, flinching each time she forgot what came next. “I am…I’m unworthy to be in the presence of one such as you. Please, um, please forgive me my imperfection and…and accept my humble worship of your divine form.”

Silence stretched out, for so long that she began to hope (or should she fear?) that he’d gone. Perhaps he was displeased with her but would leave her alone, to be discovered by the Shamanists in the morning. If he didn’t turn her into an Obidi, would she be allowed to go home then?

Talia felt, without hearing any sound of movement, a warm hand come to rest on her hip. She nearly screamed. Behind her, she could feel his presence; he was like an oven, radiating such warmth that, if there’d been any question of his divinity, made it clear he was no man. She pulled once more, instinctually, on the ropes.

“Not unacceptable,” he said. Was he talking about her? Or the words? Either way, she didn’t think she was supposed to respond.

She felt his hand slide off of her hip, onto the small of her back, and then away completely. The air behind her suddenly felt cooler. When he came to stand in front of her, she was able to see him through the intense dark, but only just. He wore a hooded robe, and she could not see his face through the folds. He was tall, and the robe made it hard to distinguish whether he was broad or slender.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Talia, my Lord,” she said. She wasn’t supposed to meet his eyes, but she couldn’t stop herself from searching his hood. He made a sound; she couldn’t tell if it was a satisfied or dissatisfied one.

“For which virtue were you chosen?”

“On the virtue of Loyalty, my Lord.”

They’d said he would ask that. The Shamanists had asked her many questions and made her perform a variety of tests to determine which virtue she most closely embodied: Beauty, Intelligence, Strength, Honor, Kindness, or Loyalty. She’d sensed they were displeased when they’d settled on the last one for her, but even she knew that none of the others really fit. All it took was one look at her to see that she was no extraordinary beauty, and she knew that she was no great mind, either. Nor was she exceptionally strong, kind, or honorable, no more than the average man or woman.

All told, she was actually rather…boring. So a boring virtue suited her.

“Yes, of course,” he said. He looked up at the dark sky. She wondered what he saw.

“Talia,” he repeated, as if testing the word. He chuckled. Was he laughing at her?

“If my name displeases—” she began, but he cut her off.

“Do not speak.” His tone was sharp and she tried to shrink back from it. “I have not decided to give you that privilege.”

Talia dropped her eyes to the ground. _Stupid_ , she cursed herself. He moved back around her, and she felt his hands go to her neck. For a moment she felt panic rise in her—would he kill her for her transgression just now?—but instead she felt his hands on the tie of the shift, and a different kind of panic laced through her.

Once the tie was undone, the shift fell away completely, landing at her feet. Though she couldn’t see him, she could feel the weight of his gaze as if it were a physical presence, like fingertips brushing her skin. She knew that was impossible, and yet she felt his eyes as they traveled down her spine and hips. She even thought she felt his gaze linger next on her calves.

He circled her. She knew he must be terribly bored by her figure, but he continued to take in the sight of her. Now she thought she felt his eyes on her small breasts, and then her ribcage as it led into her narrow hips and flat stomach. She had a boyish frame, and might have been mistaken for one if not for her small stature.

Finally, she felt his gaze land at the juncture between her legs, and in response, her body warmed. Her arousal was so surprising and so sudden that she opened her mouth to breathe.

He made another sound, and this time she knew it was a pleased one.

“Talia the Loyal,” he said. “What does your family do?”

“My Lord?”

“Tell me about them. Do you come from farmers? Intellectuals? Tradesmen? I know you’re not royalty, but other than that…”

“Farmers, my Lord,” she said. He waved a hand, as if telling her to go on. “My father owns land and raises cows and sheep. Occasionally my mother makes clothes for the townspeople.”

“Do you help him on the farm?”

“Yes,” she said. “We all do.”

“Do you sew as well?”

“A bit,” she said.

“Which do you prefer? The physical labor or the sewing?”

“Neither, my Lord.”

There was a pause, as if she’d surprised him. Again he waved a hand; _go on_.

“I like to read and write. My mother taught me to keep the family’s records. I enjoy that work. I like to…understand the details.”

He chuckled.

“I see. So you help run your household. And do you have any siblings?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Six, my Lord.” She found that this conversation was easing something in her, even relaxing her. It was good to think fo her family, especially in the face of this crossroads.

“That’s a lot of siblings. I only have one and he’s a headache.” Talia didn’t know what to say, but after a moment he asked: “Are you the oldest?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Of course,” he said again. But if he already knew the answers, then why was he asking?

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen, my Lord.”

“Stop calling me Lord,” he commanded. “If you must call me something, make it Desdomon.”

“Yes, my—Desdomon.”

“And your siblings? How old are they?”

“They are… seventeen, thirteen, ten, nine, and six.”

“Boys? Girls?”

“The youngest three are boys,” she said.

“Is your oldest sister as…capable as you are? When it comes to matters of the house? Assisting your parents, watching your siblings, keeping the records…”

She wasn’t sure whether to cry or not. Was this kindness and interest, she wondered, or was he determining whether she was disposable?

“Yes,” she said. He nodded, and she half expected to hear him say “of course” again. Instead, he stepped closer, and she could feel the heat radiating out of him once more.

“Final question, Talia the Loyal: are you a virgin?”

This was another question the Shamanists had prepared her for. They’d told her it didn’t actually matter whether she was or not, only that she answer honestly. Of course, she’d also heard that they preferred virgins.

“Yes,” she whispered. Again she found her eyes searching the hood, trying to get a look at him. Perhaps he was terribly deformed, and he kept it up so as to not scare her? Would he even have a human form at all? Something told her that wasn’t the case, that underneath it all he was just a man, or at least had a man’s form.

“Good,” he said. Good because he wanted her to be a virgin, or because she’d told the truth? Before she could figure it out, he pressed against her. Her body, frightened by his raw power and proximity, jerked back, pulling at the ropes in its effort to escape him.

He put a hand to the back of her neck and held her close. “Your fear is natural and unconscious,” he said. “Like your reaction to pain or a loud noise. Do not think it offends me. It will pass.”

She nodded, and gasped when she felt his other hand reach up to gather her left breast. His palm was large enough to span the whole of it. He gripped it tightly, then let go, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her nipple. She felt her sex respond to it despite herself.

He leaned down, and she felt the fabric of his hood touch her skin before his lips did. As he kissed and sucked at her breast, she felt the heat of him, the softness of his lips, the scratch of what must be a beard. He pressed one hand between her shoulder blades, encouraging her to arch into his mouth. The stretch forced her to stand on her toes and made her pant with the exertion.

His other hand slipped between her legs.

She moaned at the feeling of his fingers stroking up and down her opening. She was already wet, and he slicked his fingers before finding her clitoris. The pleasure was instant and overwhelming, so much more intense than when it was her own hand doing the work. He rubbed her slowly, so slowly that she started to move her hips to get the friction she needed. He allowed her, moving his hand so that his thumb was circling her clitoris while he pressed a finger into her.

And still his mouth was on her, now licking at her right breast. He had found a rhythm, first licking a bit of skin, then nipping just enough to make her squirm, then kissing the hurt away before moving elsewhere. With all the oils that had been rubbed into her skin before she’d been left here, she wondered what he tasted.

When he pulled back, removing both his mouth and his hand, she was left breathless, her hips still rocking, her nipples hard from her arousal as much as from the chill left by the absence of him.

“Your willingness to serve is admirable,” he said. “I like the taste of you.” He brought his hand, the one that had just been between her legs, to his mouth. She could only just make it out as he licked her silky essence from his fingers. “All of you. Would you like to know what will happen to you now?”

Her legs were shaking. Her arousal made her question which outcome she wanted. Talia nodded, not trusting her voice in the moment.

“Be still, Talia the Loyal,” he said. As if his words were a command that bypassed her mind and went straight to her nervous system, her shaking stilled and her heart calmed. But her arousal didn’t dissipate; she could feel the need at the core of her pulsing with every heartbeat.

“And close your eyes,” he said. Again, her body reacted without explicit permission from her mind. She felt a shifting in the air around her, similar to before but more subdued. When he spoke again, his lips were right beside her ear: “Now open.”

She gasped. What had been a grassy hill in an otherwise unremarkable grassy landscape was now full of wildflowers, plants in every color of the rainbow and more she’d never seen. The sky was no longer dark; now it was bright and full of just as much color as the field in front of her. Blues and greens and purples patterned like the northern lights were painted across a sky turned orange and red and pink by the sunset.

It was visual chaos, so much color, so many things all trying to catch the eye, and yet it didn’t distract. It didn’t unnerve or disorient. Talia felt oddly calm in this place, in its riot of color and life.

She tried to reach out toward one of the flowers, wanted to feel its velvety petals against her skin. But her hands were still tied above her. She looked over at Desdomon, who was standing beside her and watching her as she took in the landscape. She realized, with another small gasp, that he’d lowered his hood.

Talia didn’t know what she had expected, but it hadn’t been this. He looked average, ordinary, like someone she’d passed a hundred times on the street. He was older than her, perhaps twice her age, give or take a few years. His hair was mostly black with hints of gray showing in places. His beard, trimmed short to his face, was the same salt and pepper. There were crows feet around his eyes, but otherwise his olive skin was smooth. There was a look about him that suggested weariness, and yet there was an even stronger quality of vitality and power around him.

His eyes were an inexplicable pale gray color, the only thing about him that seemed anything more than plain human. But she wasn’t supposed to meet his eyes; quickly, she dropped them, looking instead at his robe. Before, it had seemed merely black to her, but she saw that it was in fact adorned with countless intricate and minute details, symbols or characters of some kind, in red and gold thread. She knew well it would have taken tireless months, perhaps even years, to complete it.

“What do you think?” he asked, gesturing toward the landscape.

“Beautiful,” she breathed. “Everything is so…” She searched for words, but none came to her. It felt trite to call the place indescribably beautiful, and yet that’s what it was. And it wasn’t just the view, but the feeling it evoked as well.

He nodded his understanding. “This is Dormean,” he said. “My realm sits in the center of the godsrealm, and the Allarston is in the heart of Dormean. You, Talia, are currently in the nexus of all of Time. You are at the point through which everything flows.”

He moved in front of her, and she expected him to untie her hands. Instead, he looked down at her, putting his hands on her waist. She was careful to avoid his eyes. His hands were gentler than she expected them to be as they roamed up and down her body, exploring, claiming.

She felt exposed. She felt helpless. She felt scared. But the fear was its own kind of excitement; standing before a god in his own realm, one who could and would do anything he wished to her, was strangely freeing. Passivity was the most familiar state of being for her, and he was allowing her that now. She felt no shame for her nakedness, or for her body’s response to him. She felt no shame as her breath began to quicken and her sex opened like a flower for him.

Finally, his hands framed her face. She looked around, trying not to meet his eyes. But he tilted her head back, forcing her to look at him, and as soon as she met his eyes, he leaned down to brush his lips against hers. Like his hands, his lips were softer than she’d expected. She opened her mouth for his tongue, a sweet invasion. She felt, once more, as if she were being claimed.

He kissed her for so long and so deeply that by the time he pulled away, she was dizzy and glad for the ropes holding her upright. He sank down to his knees in front of her and a shiver moved through her. She wanted to turn her face away, but found that she was unable to as he started to kiss a trail from her navel downward. As he went, moving closer to where she hoped and feared he was going, she felt a lingering heat on her skin where his lips touched her.

One of his hands lifted her leg, and he guided it so her thigh was resting on his shoulder. Her other leg shook, a sense of fear and anticipation lacing through her. After he’d moved her other leg over his shoulder, so that her entire weight was resting on him and on the ropes around her wrists, he met her eyes once more.

He licked up the center of her.

She hissed, her hips shifting involuntarily. It brought her closer to his mouth, and he leaned into her. His hands held onto her hips, keeping her balanced against him. The sensation of his mouth on her sex was overwhelming: the heat of him, the scratch of his beard, the softness of his lips, the wet probe of his tongue. Her head fell back and she gave over all control to him. What else was there to do but enjoy herself?

And it was enjoyable. He knew just how to please her, reacted to every moan and spasm she made by doing more of what had caused her reaction. She could smell the heady scent of sex in the air; whether it came from her or from this place or from her own mind, she wasn’t sure. And between her sounds of pleasure, she could hear his mouth on her, an erotic and surprisingly intimate sound.

Tension was gathering in her stomach, along her inner thighs. Her shoulders and back and wrists hurt from the weight of her body against her bonds. Her breath sawed in and out of her heavily, and her hips moved in time with his mouth. She felt herself approaching the edge, knew that she would orgasm soon, knew it would be over, and yet—

Soon never came. _She_ never came. Every time she felt the trembling and the gathering pressure that signaled her end, it would recede, leaving the edge further away. It was frustrating. It was _painful_.

His tongue was inside of her. His hands were rubbing her. His breath brushed against her most sensitive skin. She wanted to orgasm. She couldn’t.

He pulled back without warning or preamble and she shivered, a chill moving up her spine. She made a small sound of protest as he put her feet back on the ground and stood once more before her.

“It is the drug they gave you,” he explained.

“What?” Her heart was beating hard in her ears. She was so aroused it was hard to focus on anything else; her sexual need in this moment trumped all else. She wanted to feel him against her, all of him against every part of her. She wanted…it felt improper to even think it, but she wanted him inside of her so badly that she would have done almost anything to get it.

“The reason you cannot find completion,” he explained. She forced herself to focus on his words. “You have been given a drug over the past few days that is making it difficult for you now.”

She thought of the odd-tasting drink they’d give her in lieu of food. They had said that it would help her make the journey to the godsrealm if he chose to take her there. How long did the effects last, she wondered? She couldn’t stand for this agony, this pleasure without end, to go on another moment, let alone another few hours. Or days. In her current state, she forgot to ask permission before she spoke:

“Please,” she said. “I cannot endure this.” His eyes traced over her once again. There was a look on his face that made her feel more beautiful than she’d ever felt. In this moment, with him watching her, she was no longer the plain or ordinary girl she’d always thought herself to be.

He nodded and lifted his hands. For a moment she thought he might touch her again. She’d give anything to have him touch her and cure her of this un-scratchable itch. But no, his hands were going to the front of his robe. The two halves of it were held together by a line of thick buttons. He unfastened them quickly and let the thing fall away, hitting the ground heavily.

Underneath the robe, he was completely, resplendently naked and very aroused. He may have had the face of an older man, but he had the body of a much younger one. His broad chest sloped down into tight and narrow hips. His arms and shoulders were muscular, his body mostly hairless.

Again he moved without hesitation; as he stepped back into her, he palmed himself with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her hips. She was so drenched already that he slid into her easily. His cock felt massive inside of her, stretching her more than she would have thought possible, but it was a welcome invasion. She shivered violently at the pleasure.

He was so much taller than her that he had to hold her against him. He lifted her slightly, pulled his hips back, and dropped her back as he thrust forward. She cried out and wrapped her legs around his hips, her heels digging into his ass. Every movement he made shifted him against her clitoris, and the sensation was almost too much. It _was_ too much, to feel so much pleasure and be denied her release. Her arms strained against her bonds so hard she knew the skin must have rubbed clean off. She didn’t care.

Her head was in the crook of his shoulder and neck, and she couldn’t stop herself from biting down, trying to relieve some of her agony. She felt, more than heard, his sharp inhale of breath. He turned his head, putting his lips to her ear.

“You’ll pay for that, my dear,” he said, nipping playfully at the top of her ear. She could only gasp a plea that he go faster, give her more, anything at all.

His breath hitched more, and he moved quicker, lifting and dropping her onto himself at a pace no normal man could sustain. Every muscle in her body, from her arms down her back, in her hips and thighs and ass and even her neck and jaw, was tensed. Everything outside of her body, outside of where his skin met hers and where his sex took hers, had faded away. He pulled back to look at her once more, and she met his eyes without hesitation. They seemed brighter, bluer, than they had before. As if lit from within.

 _This is no man,_ Talia thought. This was a _god._

The thought of being taken, completely and undeniably, by such a power was what finally sent her over the edge. She cried out her pleasure as she felt the spasms of her orgasm finally rock through her and her vision went briefly white. He continued to thrust into her as her sex grasped at him, and the friction heightened her pleasure. It wasn’t her first orgasm, but it was by far the best, the pleasure taking her so high she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully come back down.

When she looked back at Desdomon, his eyes were closed, brows down and mouth open in concentration. As she studied his face, she thought she could see the hint of sweat at his brow and along his upper lip. It was enthralling; it was beautiful. Divine power or no, he was still very male, and very much in the throes of his own pleasure-seeking. She wished her hands were free so she could touch him.

She watched his face tighten as he climaxed, felt his thrusts cease as he buried himself in her. He made no sound, didn’t even breathe. She leaned forward to press her lips against his. He opened his eyes, and she thought for a moment that he looked at her with surprise. But she must have imagined it, because he was kissing her back, one of his hands going to the back of her head as the other continued to hold her in place.

As he stilled, save the occasional twitch, he trailed a series of kisses down her jaw. His breath came out heavily, tickling her neck and ear.

Wordlessly, he reached up to release her bonds. At first, Talia thought that he cut them, but she saw that the rope had simply disappeared, from her hands and from the post above. Her wrists were slightly red but not nearly as raw as they should have been given how much she’d pulled against them.

She was dying to ask him what would happen to her now, but she didn’t want to risk angering him. Instead, she found herself reaching up, tentatively, to brush his cheek with her fingers. He closed his eyes, silent permission given. She pressed her palm fully against the side of his face, marveling at the heat under his skin. His hair, when she pushed her fingers through it, was smooth, thick, and wavy, a contrast to the coarse bristles of his facial hair.

“Your touch is very…hypnotizing,” he murmured. His eyes opened, and she saw that they were closer to the gray they’d been when she’d first seen them, not the nearly-glowing blue they’d been while he was inside of her.

Well, while he was _moving_ inside of her.

She blushed, both from his words and from the realization that she could still feel his sex in hers. He was going soft, a fluttery feeling.

“Sorry,” she said. He laughed and shifted, lifting her off of him and putting her gently on her feet. His hands lingered on her for a moment, and she was grateful, as her legs almost didn’t support her weight. He leaned over and retrieved her shift. After she pulled it over her head, he turned her around and tied it in the back, slowly. One finger ran down her spine, and then he pressed a kiss to the base of her neck. The heat of him disappeared. She looked over her shoulder and saw him retrieving his own robe.

He looked over at her once it was back in place. Even with the hood down, it made him look larger, more menacing, more frightening. She crossed her arms in front of herself and looked down rather than directly at him.

“You will stay here with me,” he said. “Here in my realm, for as long as you wish to stay. Does that sound agreeable, Talia the Loyal?”

She glanced up.

“As long… as I wish?” she repeated.

He nodded. “Yes. The drug you were given will prevent your departure from this realm for several days, but after that, I will not force you to go or stay. You will be my honored guest, free to move about my land as you please.” He clasped his hands behind her back and watched her, patient. “Does that sound agreeable?”

Talia looked around. She left the circle that made up the Allarston, went over to one of the flowers. It was dark blue, a color so pure and beautiful she knew it couldn’t have existed on earth. She leaned down, and the smell was the same, so bright and rich it could only come from the godsrealm. As she stood back up, she felt Desdomon, having moved silently once again to stand just behind her.

“Okay,” she said. She took the flower, almost as large as her palm, and turned to face him. “I’ll stay.”

He smiled.


	2. Unwilling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The god of Darkness has better things to do than perform the yearly sacrifice ritual, and Val has no interest in being the sacrifice. But do either of them have a choice in the matter?

The realm of Thule had been quiet of late.

Erebos walked its length, looking for the source of the disquiet. Of course, he knew the source—it was him, as this place was simply an extension of his own psyche—but he’d found that these things usually manifested themselves in some way. And walking the realm was easier than confronting his own mind, in which lurked all other manner of unresolved preoccupations.

Behind heavy iron gates that had been chained shut, his castle Nyx sat empty and unused, as it had for millennia. Not for the first time, he thought about breaking the chains and going inside once more. But he could feel the sorrow and loneliness that now lived there even from here, and he dared not go closer. Even the Lord of Darkness could get consumed by it if he didn’t watch his step.

He took a long, snaking path through the forests of Thule, that great repository of humanity’s nightmares. The things themselves, what lived in the woods and haunted the dreams of mortals, never crossed his path. He could sense them around him as he walked, watching and avoiding. They, too, felt the disquiet that had spread out from him to infect the land.

His search eventually led him to the Allarston, as he had suspected it would. Erebos shoved a hand into his pocket, produced a hand-rolled cigarette. The rasp of his match was loud in the silence of the space. The smoke drifted straight up over his head, undisturbed by any stirring in the air.

He hadn’t always hated the ritual. For a time, he’d even enjoyed it. But these last few centuries, it had become harder and harder to attend. Eight years would pass in a breeze, while the months leading up to the offering, when Erebos most dreaded it, would trickle by.

He moved around the circle to find his own altar. Its surface was obsidian glass, smooth and unmarred. Looking down, the dark mirror reflected his own face back at him. He averted his eyes. The sides of the altar were made of dark stone, rougher than the top, and in it were carved the symbols of his language, the gods language. They were barely visible, easier to detect with the fingers than anything. He wondered if any humans were left who could read or understand them. Probably not.

“What do you want, Ikalos?” he asked aloud. He stood to face his general, the only one of his creations who did not fear him. He was a haunting figure, even in his human form, his bones sharp under sallow skin, his eyes deep and hollow. He stood in the center of the circle, a tall and slender wight.

“My Lord Erebos, a child has been born in the mortal realm.” Ikalos’ voice was soft, ethereal. It sent a chill down even Erebos’ spine.

“Children are born every day in the mortal realm,” he answered.

“The child has been born of Ebi, to a mortal woman.”

Erebos inhaled on the cigarette. The smoking itself longer calmed him as it once had. He’d found, however, that the habit itself calmed him, or at least distracted him. Was that how mortal addiction worked, as well?

“My Lord?”

“Yes,” Erebos said, “thank you, Ikalos. I will deal with it.”

“Would you like me to—“

“I will handle it,” he repeated.

His general hesitated, then bowed. “My Lord,” he said, before disappearing.

Erebos ran a hand back through his hair. He’d known, of course. Nothing that happened in his realm escaped his notice. He should have done something about it, before it got to this point. No child had been born of Darkness in several centuries, because in the past he’d intervened. Now, the very thought of taking action was tiring. He was angry with Ebi more for that than for the actual transgression.

He thought of the castle again, and the time when he’d lived in it. With Bela. Things had seemed easier then. Existence had been…lighter.

He laughed humorlessly.

Erebos looked across his altar to the center of the Allarston, to the smith circle of granite. His older brother’s altar.

Perhaps he could turn this situation to his advantage.

 

~

 

Desdomon granted him entry into Dormean, but he entered at the Allarston instead of the castle. So his brother was annoyed with him.

He set off intending to go to the castle. The direction he went didn’t matter so much as his intention; time and space were both fluid concepts in Dormean. There was no clear difference between day and night here, only a twilight that sometimes felt more like dawn. The view was consistent no matter which way he looked, the landscape stretching out in rolling hills and wildflowers with little to differentiate one area from another. He’d always found the place highly unsettling.

It took him a long time to the castle. Desdomon must be _very_ annoyed with him, then. He sighed.

It wasn’t the first time he’d disappointed his brother, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. Des took his own role and responsibilities very seriously, in stark contrast to Erebos’ own philosophy on godhood. He’d long ago seen that, no matter what he did, little changed, and grown tired of doing the same things over and over again. On earth, nothing changed was because mortal lives were fleeting and they, as a mass, were slow to learn. In the godsrealm, it was because his fellow immortals were fearful of losing their power.

But what was the point of being an immortal being if you had to do it on someone else’s terms?

Finally, the castle came into view, a modest structure on a hill surrounded by the city of Dorvid. From a distance, he could see activity, but it slowly stopped as he approached. Houses shut up before he passed by them, stalls abandoned and food left on tables outside of cafes.

He could sense the humans and the not-quite-humans in their houses or buildings, hiding behind the stone and wood walls or watching him through a window. The city was much larger than the last time he’d visited, and in Erebos’ experience, a larger city usually meant his brother was happy.

Well, bully for him.

The only ones who didn’t shrink from him were the guards, and they permitted him inside without a word. He made his way to the throne room, where he was certain his brother would be waiting in his official robes. Erebos had put his on only because he knew Desdomon would refuse to see him without them; this was, after all, official business, and his brother was a stickler for the rules. But the robe was heavy, and hot, and he loathed formality.

The doors to the throne room were closed and didn’t open even when he pushed against them.

“He has an audience at the moment, High Lord Erebos,” one of the guards said.

“Does he?” Erebos asked flatly.

The guard nodded. “Please wait here, my Lord.”

_I get it_ , he almost said aloud. _You’re irritated with me. Join the party_. They both knew well that Desdomon could have timed his arrival at the castle so that there was no other audience—he was the Lord of Time, after all—so his having to wait was because Des wanted him to wait.

“Have him call me when he’s ready,” he said, and turned down the hall. He went in search of the library. His brother had a fantastic library—not as impressive as Ishtir’s, but still great. Inside, he found a young woman bent over one book, reading, as she wrote in another. She didn’t shrink away from him in fear as he approached; she didn’t appear to notice him at all.

“Winter of 1239 in Burgundy,” Erebos said, reading over her shoulder. She jumped and looked up at him. “Bad winter.”

She had dark eyes and light hair, and an air of youthfulness about her that made him feel tired. But he didn’t seem to call fear out of her the way he did most everyone else, and that was refreshing.

“So it would seem,” she said. Her eyes went to his robe, and she added, “my Lord.”

“Erebos, please,” he said. “And you are…?”

“Talia,” she said.

“And how did you come to be a guest of my brother, Talia?” She blushed, and he nodded. Des occasionally brought his human offerings back to live in his realm for a time. He seemed to enjoy the company of mortals more than immortals, and certainly more than he enjoyed his brother’s. “I see. How do you like Dormean?”

“It’s…strange.” Talia looked away, considering. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and yet it feels familiar. Like home, even. But then, there are moments when I suddenly remember where I am and it feels…” She shrugged. “But that passes quickly.”

Erebos nodded again. He did not share her feeling of comfort or ease when he was here. But then, she was a welcome guest of his brother, a human who had given herself to him and come here more or less willingly. He, on the other hand, was a disappointing younger brother who was about to petition to get out of his duties.

He put that thought from his mind and leaned over to look at the books in front of her.

“He has you updating his records? Have things changed since then 1239? New information come in?”

She laughed a bit nervously. “Just re-writing them. These were damaged and he likes them to be handwritten.”

Erebos frowned. “Damaged?” he asked. “When?” And how? He hadn’t heard of an attack on Dormean, and it wasn’t as if the castle plumbing had sprung a leak.

“I…I don’t know.” She looked down at the books. “But I enjoy the work. It clears the mind.”

Erebos felt Desdomon’s call, an impatient beating in his head, and knew his brother was ready for him. He smiled at Talia and held out a hand.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Talia,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll see you again sometime.”

She gave him her hand and he kissed the back of it.

“Wait,” she said, just before he left the library. She stood as he looked back at her. “Which realm is yours? Which…which one are you?”

He looked down at his robe, black with black stitching.

“Thule,” he said. “I am the Lord of Darkness.”

Talia nodded. “I thought so. Good day, my Lord.” She bowed a bit, and he smiled to himself as he turned away.

Des was on his throne in his ceremonial robe, just as Erebos had expected.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, my brother, but to be fair, you kept me waiting first,” Erebos said as he entered the room. Against one of the walls sat a small table with several flasks of wine and cups. He pointed to it. “Can I get a drink?” The god of Time didn’t answer, but Erebos didn’t need an answer; he poured himself a glass of red and took a sip. It tasted terrible but at least it was strong.

“I met your human,” he said, looking up at the throne. He and his brother looked nothing alike. Where Des was broad shouldered, Erebos was taller and much thinner; where his brother had pale blue-gray eyes and olive skin, he had dark eyes and pale skin; his brother had tidy hair streaked with gray, while Erebos’ was pure black, wild, and long.

“What did you think of her?”

Erebos shrugged. “She suits you, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Des said.

“Will she be here long?” Erebos asked.

“Perhaps you’d like to get to the purpose for your visit, little brother.”

“Don’t you know the purpose already?” he asked, irritated.

“I do.”

“And?” Des looked at him evenly, and Erebos narrowed his eyes. “You’ve already decided to deny my request.”

“The ritual must proceed.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Erebos knew why his brother said it had to proceed: the offering cemented the pact between the gods and mortals, strengthened the connection between earth and the godsrealm. It was a symbolic and literal exchange of power; his blessing to the human and their kin, and as an extension all of humankind. In return, he received the most potent form of energy in nature. And it wasn’t just energy from the specific human; in their offering, they became a vessel for their species, a conduit for the combined energy of humanity.

Erebos took another drink of the wine.

“You know about the child?” he asked. Des nodded. “Then you know I have more important things to do tomorrow night than worry about having sex with a mortal.”

“If your duty in that matter was so paramount that you cannot put it off for one day, then perhaps you should not have waited so long to handle it.”

Erebos clenched his jaw. “Why even admit me into your realm if all you were going to do was tell me no?”

Desdomon sighed and stood, coming down the steps from his throne. “Why do I go through the motions of anything at all, brother? Why do any of us?”

“Because you’re obsessed with the rules.”

“With the performance,” the god of Time corrected. “That is where meaning manifests itself. Even if you know every line of the play, it is still different every time you watch it.”

“Not a fan of theater,” Erebos murmured. He drank down the rest of the wine and refilled his cup. “So it’s just a play to you? Just entertainment? What if the human doesn’t want it? Oh, wait, you don’t have to consider that, because they all want you. Your offerings are generally happy to serve their duty. You might frighten them a little, but your power is alluring. Enticing. It doesn’t make them start screaming when you get close. Your presence doesn’t dredge up all of their worst fears.”

“Have you considered that your effect on them is at least partially a result of your own fear?”

Erebos turned to narrow his eyes at his brother. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You fear your own nature. You’re afraid of hurting them, the way you hurt Bela.”

Erebos clenched his jaw once more. “Are we done?”

“They sense your fear and it causes them to become afraid themselves. Perhaps if you were more comfortable in your role—”

“Goodbye, Des.” Erebos drained his wine and handed the cup to his brother. “Great seeing you, as usual.”

“Think on it, little brother,” the god of Time said as Erebos stepped out into the hall. He didn’t waste time trying to find his way out of the castle; he willed himself away, out of Dormean and back to the lonely realm of Thule.

 

~

 

Valerie didn’t give a shit about honor or the family name. As far as she was concerned, the bastards who had called herself their family could rot in hell, especially after nominating her for this. She wasn’t sure whether it was true that the family of an offering received a blessing from the gods, but if it was, then she hoped that by disavowing them, at least in her own heart, they’d get a curse instead.

She would have done worse than curse them if she’d had the chance.

But she’d been either restrained or locked away since the day the Shamanists had taken her. They’d had to give her a sedative just to get her to the Allarston. Even in her half-conscious state, a spike of fear had gone through her when she’d seen the altar of Erebos. It was an evil looking thing, entirely black, its glassy surface smooth and cold. They tied her hands and feet to the four corners of the table with soft black fabric. She’d thought that would be to her advantage—surely it would be easy enough to tear fabric with enough force, right? But it didn’t give, no matter how much she twisted or pulled.

The drug had started to wear off by the time the Shamanists were about to leave. The old woman, hateful bitch that she was, stood beside the altar and looked down at Valerie.

“I will not miss your insolence, my child,” she said. “I hope the Lord of Darkness is rough with you. It would teach you your place in the world.”

Valerie spit at her; in her shock, the Shamanist nearly slapped her in return. Instead, she sneered.

“Blindfold her,” she commanded one of the Obidi. “It will heighten her fear and please our Lord.”

Whatever Valerie thought of the Shamanists and their gods, the woman was right about one thing: being blindfolded did indeed heighten her fear. Every small sound was some beast coming to eat her, or a madman to kill her, or worst of all the god himself.

But of course that wasn’t that, because she didn’t believe in the gods. She knew no one who had ever actually met one of them. When an older boy from her hometown had been taken several years ago, she’d never seen him again or heard what happened to him. She hadn’t seen him at the Temple of Raki, as an Obidi or otherwise. Which meant he was probably dead, killed by the Shamanists after whatever had happened to him on the night of the solstice.

And yet.

Something felt different about this place. There was an energy in the air that did not feel entirely natural. As the sun set and evening became night, she should have at least heard the chorus of bugs and other night creatures that were active in the summer. But there was nothing.

Between that and the blindfold, she was almost able to believe in the gods. She was certainly able to fear them. But what had Etienne always told her?

_Fear is just a dark corner you haven’t examined yet. It’s a box you haven’t opened or a puzzle you don’t understand._

But what more was there to understand about this situation? It wasn’t as if further examination would change her circumstances or make it any less likely that someone was going to come rape and kill her. Because, when it came down to it, that’s what she expected to happen. This whole ritual was all about those in power keeping power by spouting off about gods and magic, so loudly and for so long that even some of the Shamanists themselves would come to believe it. But it was just people carrying out tradition, inflicting harm on others for their own gain.

She thought of Etienne. Behind the darkness of the blindfold, she could almost see him again, his indulgent grin, his round cheeks, his knowing eyes. How he’d brightened her world, with his poetry and his music. She’d been ready to run away with him to the city. Even if they had to sleep on the streets, at least they’d be together. Together, and away from their families, from his drinking father and from her greedy parents.

The evening that they were supposed to meet to make their escape, the Shamanists had come. She’d been too stupid, too slow to understand what was going on. By the time she realized, they’d had her. She’d seen money exchange hands, a small finder’s fee for her parents’ recommendation.

“Be good, Valerie,” her father had told her.

“You’ll get to serve in the Temple,” her mother had said. “Maybe even become a Shamanist one day!”

She didn’t have any interest in being a Shamanist, but that turned out not to matter. Valerie hadn’t had a clue how the Shamanist hierarchy worked, but neither, it turned out, did her parents. The most she could hope was to become an Obidi, a voiceless, possibly blind servant who was also, on a technicality, a holy woman. That prospect was even less appealing than becoming a Shamanist.

It was all so fucked up. If the gods were real, then they were terrible gods indeed. What kind of religion worshipped beings that required sacrifices and then, to pay those people back, left them as hollowed out shells who couldn’t return to their former life?

Not that she had any former life to return to. She’d had no way to get a message to Etienne on the day she’d been taken. Had he found out what had happened to her, or did he think that she abandoned him? If she somehow escaped, would she be able to find him? And if so, would he take her back?

Of course, she couldn’t stop herself from playing out the ultimate fantasy in her mind: that she would hear someone approaching, he would reach down, untie her, and lift her blindfold, and when she looked up it would be Etienne. He’d pull her into his arms and kiss her and carry her away from this evil place and the evil people who had brought her here. Maybe he’d only just found out about her fate from her family, and had chased her down just in time; maybe he’d known since the day she’d been taken and had followed her from home to the Temple and then out here; maybe he’d just known, sensed something was wrong and then found his way to her.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Her thoughts turned suddenly darker, to more likely scenarios. The visions played in her head vividly: he’d tried to save her from the Temple, and been caught and killed for his efforts. He’d run away to the city without her and found someone else to love, someone better. He’d been killed on the road to the city, or by a vagrant once he was there. He’d starved, or had to take work in a factory and been killed on the job.

Worst of all, she saw herself being confronted by the god of Darkness, saw him raping her while Etienne watched and did nothing. She knew, in this vision, that he’d never really loved her. He turned away while she called out to him for help, left her to her fate of violation and death.

Valerie trembled and felt tears threatening. These thoughts weren’t helping. She shook her head, as if she could shake them away entirely. Etienne was a distraction at the moment. She needed to focus, needed to figure out a way of escape. Then she could think of him again.

“I’m sorry, Etienne,” she whispered. She didn’t expect a response, but got one anyway.

“Who’s Etienne?”

 

~

 

Erebos didn’t wait until midnight like he was supposed to. He’d been waiting for nine years, and he wanted to get this over with. Once he knew the human had been left, alone, at the Allarston, he went to earth. His robe felt even heavier than usual as he appeared. The woman—girl, really, good lord was she young—on his altar was blindfolded and hadn’t heard his arrival.

He approached silently, watching her. She was caught in the flow of her thoughts, and he could catch the general drift of them by her fears as they played out through her head. She feared him, and the ritual.

_Such a bland way to put it,_ he thought. She feared the sex, or rather that he would take it from her without permission. And there was a boy, and the fear of lost love.

_But of course there’s a boy,_ he thought. _Just look at her._

She was stunning, her body perfectly proportioned, her skin pale with occasional smatterings of light freckles. She had dark red hair and delicate features.

Even as her fears started to build, she shook her head and ignored them. He was impressed. His presence had called her fears out, but she was either strong or smart enough to know how to cope with them.

When she whispered, it was the most heartbreaking sound he’d ever heard, a childhood love lost:

“I’m sorry, Etienne.”

“Who’s Etienne?” He hadn’t meant to speak; he hadn’t known what he was going to do. But he supposed speaking worked just as well as anything.

She tensed. After a moment of indecision, she pulled against the satin bonds that held her in place. Her movements were wild, uncoordinated, and so violent that he feared she would injure herself.

“Hold on, girl,” he said. She ignored him. “Let me help you,” he tried, a little louder.

“Fuck you!” she snapped. The tendons in her neck stuck out as she pulled with all her strength. He moved around to stand by her head and placed a finger between her eyebrows.

“Be still,” he said. Her body obeyed, even if her mind told it to do otherwise. He slipped the blindfold off her face and she glared up at him with hazel eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured. No knife could cut through the bonds, and it was impossible to untie them, but each one disappeared with a single touch from him.

She sat up quickly, rubbing at her wrists as he went to her feet. She said nothing and watched him closely.

“Looked like you were going to break a limb,” he said. As he sat on the edge of the table, she climbed down and moved away from him. He could see her pulse beating in her neck. Her eyes swept the area, looking for the best route away from him and this place. They were surrounded by green fields that stretched into the horizon.

“I wouldn’t go out there,” he said dryly. “There are spells around meant to disorient and harm you.”

“So you can keep me here?”

“I didn’t say they were my spells.” Erebos reached into a pocket of his ceremonial robe and produced a cigarette. He held it out to her, but she stayed where she was. He shrugged and lit it up. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Why does it matter? Aren’t you just going to kill me?”

“You forgot the part about raping you,” he said. She looked at him warily, and he waved a hand. “That’s what you’re afraid of, right? Not just the murder, but the violation before.” He took a drag on the cigarette. “But no, I’m not going to do either. I would, however, like to know your name.”

“Will you stop me if I try to leave?”

“No,” he said. “But you won’t try to leave.”

She scoffed, but didn’t move. After a moment, a look of confusion crossed her face, and then one of fear. He intercepted before it spiraled out of control.

“Spells,” he reminded her. Although he didn’t tell her that he had added one, a spell that kept her bound to him so she couldn’t run off. Des would never let him hear the end of it if that happened.

“Fine,” she said. “So you aren’t going to kill me and I can’t leave. Then what?” He raised his eyebrows at her. After a moment, grudgingly, she said, “I’m Valerie.”

“Lovely name,” he remarked. “I’m Erebos, the Lord of Darkness. A less lovely name, I know.”

“I don’t believe in the gods,” she said. He shrugged.

“Well, I don’t much believe in mortals, so I guess we’re even.”

Valerie didn’t seem to know what to make of him. He continued smoking, looking up at the sky. It was nearly dark now, but still another hour before he was supposed to arrive. He thought of the last offering that had been given to him, a dark-haired young man whose greatest fear had been drowning. He’d submitted willingly, but he’d cried the entire time. Erebos had felt sick for days afterward, unable to get the quiet sounds of those hitching sobs, muffled into his arm, out of his head.

“Why do you do it?” she asked. He looked over at her.

“Do what?”

“This.” She waved a hand around. “This whole…the offering. If you really are a god, surely you’ve got better things to do than force some human to have sex with you every year.”

He thought of his conversation with his brother yesterday. He’d made nearly the same point.

“It’s not me every year,” he said. “And you’re right, I do have better things to do.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I, like you, am bound by tradition and ritual.” Which was ironic, because as the King of Darkness, he was also the King of Mystery, Fear, and Bondage.

“I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us.” Erebos pressed his cigarette out against the bottom of his boot. “I have some business to take care of in the mortal world,” he said. Her fear flared up when he started to take the robe off. “Don’t worry, kid,” he murmured. Underneath, he wore plain black pants and a gray shirt. He ran a hand back through his hair, feeling so much lighter as he lay the robe down over his altar.

“What about me?” she asked.

“You can come with me,” he said. He could see her working it over in her head, trying to decide whether he was being truthful, whether or not she’d be able to get away from him. Finally, she said:

“Won’t people notice me in this?” She gestured to the shift she wore, a white dress that tied around her neck and didn’t even fall to her knees. Not exactly proper material for a young woman to wear out.

“I don’t think they’ll notice you at all.” She frowned, and he grinned. “A god has ways of moving through the mortal realm undetected, particularly the god of Darkness.”

She crossed her arms in front of herself. He looked back at his robe.

“Here,” he finally said, holding it out to her. Valerie took it from him and wrapped it around her shoulders. The bottom of the robe brushed the ground, and the arms were too long, but she seemed to relax a bit more in it.

_Good_ , he thought. He hadn’t felt comforted by the thing in years; it might as well help someone feel protected.

“It’s heavy,” she said. “Do you have…weapons in it?”

Erebos moved closer, and was pleased when she didn’t back away. He reached into one of the pockets.

“Just these,” he said, holding up another cigarette and his matches. “It’s armor, of a sort. These symbols are spells. This one—“ he touched one near her wrist “—is a ward of protection against physical harm. This one next to it protects against treachery.”

“There are so many,” she said, turning her arm over to examine one of the symbols he’d pointed out. Every inch of the robe was covered in symbols, each one different from the last, conferring some other kind of trait or benefit to the wearer. Its full power would only work for him, of course, but it would keep her from harm decently well.

“One more,” he murmured. He put his fingertip against her forehead and she stiffened. He closed his eyes, cloaking her and binding her to him more closely—just in case. “There now,” he said. “Shall we?”

 

~

 

Valerie didn’t have a chance to answer before she felt the world shift under her feet. In a moment the shifting stopped, but her legs had gone loose. She started to fall, but the man—god—caught her by the shoulders before she did.

“Easy,” he said. “Deep breaths now.”

Once she’d managed to stop her head from spinning and focus her eyes again, she realized that the ground under her feet was no longer the same. She looked up, and saw that they were in the center of an unfamiliar city square. The air was warmer here, and it was full dark. They were further south, but how much further south?

Even at this late hour, there were people milling about in the town square: one couple sitting on the edge of a fountain speaking in whispers, a group of young men singing raucously as they stumbled from one end of the square to the other. They had darker skin, and their language was unfamiliar to her.

“Where are we?” she asked as Erebos began to cross the square.

“Dubrovnik,” he said.

_Where’s that?_ she wondered. But he was moving quickly, and she needed to keep up. Not keeping up didn’t seem to be an option for her body, which wouldn’t stop or try to run the other direction no matter how many times she commanded it to.

He led them down a maze of narrow side streets and alleys. He didn’t seem to notice the buildings around them, but she couldn’t stop noticing them; even in the dark, they were beautiful, or at the very least impressive in their scale and multitude. They passed a few people, and as they did, the humans shivered, looked around in fear, or moved more quickly past them. One turned and went the other way completely, half-running to get out of their path.

“They can sense you as you pass them,” she commented. He’d started smoking another cigarette. The scent of the smoke was dark and heady, and it was in the robe as well. It was not the same as what her father had smoked. Was it more than tobacco, then, or was it just better tobacco?

“Yes,” he said, “all of you can sense our presence in one way or another.”

“Why are they afraid of you if they can’t even see you?”

“For the same reason you were afraid before you saw me.”

“I wasn’t afraid.”

He looked down at her. “Yes, you were. But you didn’t know it was me. As these humans don’t. You conquered your fears because you’re strong and refocused your thoughts, so now I can only frighten you the old fashioned way.”

“How’s that?”

He smirked. “By being scary.”

They ended up outside of a small but loud basement tavern. Before he knocked, he looked down at her with a frown.

“In here, they will be able to see you, but they’ll know you’re with me. No one will harm you.” She nodded, pulling the robe closer around her.

An old man answered the door and said something in a language Valerie didn’t understand. Erebos answered back, and after a moment they were permitted entry. Inside, there was music, a chorus of voices singing along or talking above it. The people—not just men, but women, too—were of all races, sizes, and ages. Here at a table were two beautiful dark-skinned men, a pale, short old woman with white hair, and a boy who could have been no older than Valerie. On stage, an assortment of men and women played instruments or sung or danced; most, even the musicians, had beers in their hands.

“Erebos,” she heard a voice say. She turned to see that a woman had approached. The woman was tall, with brown skin and a warrior’s body. Her voice, soft and feminine, didn’t immediately fit with the rest of her.

“Hello, Abriel,” he said. He kissed her cheek. “How have you been?”

“Very well,” she said in a thick accent. She glanced briefly at Valerie. “Shouldn’t you be…elsewhere right now?”

He waved her off. “We’re on a mission. Abriel, this is Valerie.”

“Pleased to meet you, dear,” the woman said. Valerie nodded at her, crossing her arms in front of herself. More people were beginning to notice them, and they stared more at her than at the god himself.

“I’m looking for Makar,” he said. “Where is he?”

Abriel’s face darkened, and she laughed once, a sound half bitter, half triumphant.

“He seemed to think he had escaped your notice,” she said. “I told him you’d come, sooner or later. Stupid man.”

Erebos nodded.

“A great many men have been undone by listening to their ego over the words of a sensible woman.”

“What will you do with the child?”

“I haven’t yet decided,” he admitted. “How many know?”

“Not many,” she said. “Not yet, in any case. There are whispers, but…your timing is good.”

“And your people?”

Now she gave him a sly look. “We might have found use for the child, if given the chance.”

“You haven’t told them,” he said. He was surprised.

“Not yet.”

“I thank you.” He bowed slightly. “I prefer not having to contend with the Host.”

“So long as he doesn’t fall into the hands of our enemy,” Abriel said, “I’m happy.” She gestured toward the back of the room, to a closed door that seemed to be guarded by several men.

Erebos turned to Valerie. “Stay here, please. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Valerie watched Erebos as he spoke to the men at the door, and then disappeared through it. She could still feel many eyes on her, but she felt strangely safe. No one looked at her with anything other than curiosity, and no one moved toward her. When she met their eyes, some looked away, but many smiled at her, or nodded.

“They have never met one such as you,” Abriel said, and Valerie realized that the woman was still standing close by.

“A human?”

“An offering. Tonight, you are a holy woman. Your service to the Lord of Darkness makes it so.”

“But I haven’t agreed to serve him,” she said.

“Unfortunately, darling, you needn’t agree. Humanity has made the deal, and you have been presented as payment.” Abriel snagged a few drinks off the tray of a passing waiter and handed one to Valerie. She clinked the tops of their glasses together. “To doing one’s duty,” she said.

“To ignoring one’s duty,” Valerie corrected. She drank as the woman laughed.

“How old are you, dear?” Abriel asked her.

“Eighteen. And you?”

The woman smiled. “Four hundred and seventy-nine.”

Valerie swallowed the rest of her drink.

 

~

 

“Please, my Lord Erebos, forgive me. I didn’t know.”

That was a lie, of course. Makar was on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him. Erebos looked down at the man, one of his Clerics of Thule, with disappointment. He was old now, his skin sagging, his body thin and frail. He could recall the man in his youth, his strength and his size. The difference was shocking

“You were one of my most faithful servants,” he said sadly.

“I still serve you faithfully, Master!” he cried. Erebos squatted down in front of the man to look him in the eyes.

“I gave you decades of extra life. Almost a century.”

“And I have continued to serve you in good faith, Master.”

“Your actions of late have not been in good faith, Makar. When you discovered the affair, you should have told me. When you discovered the woman was with child, you should have told me. Instead, you’ve chosen to hide her from me and to guard her against me. No, this was not done in my service. This was done in service of yourself.”

“So that I might continue! Please, my Lord. My body has grown weak and old, and yet you did not intervene. I feared you had forgotten me.”

“You grow weak and old because you have strayed from me, my son.” Yet even as Erebos said the words, they rang hollow to his own ears. He had hardly thought of his Clerics in years.

“I have only ever put my faith in you, Master. I have prayed to you every night, hoping for an answer, for guidance. My brothers and sisters and I carry on your rituals, your faith, but whether you were pleased or displeased with us, we did not know.”

Erebos said nothing. Like the sacrifice ritual, his Clerics had become more burden than anything. But they were at least a burden he’d been able to ignore, because no one was forcing him to attend to them.

“We have not seen you for…for decades,” Makar said gravely. “We all thought you had abandoned us. We thought perhaps this child was…a gift from you, a gift to extend our lives…”

Erebos’ face hardened. “That is a very dark interpretation indeed,” he said.

“Forgive me, Master.” Makar pressed his forehead to the ground. “I have failed you but once in a lifetime of service. Please, consider my faithfulness even in this matter.”

He didn’t want to consider that. He didn’t want to give the man any benefit at all, because to do so would be to admit his own shortcomings in the matter. He’d known what was happening, and had opted to ignore it, hoping the situation would resolve itself.

“You have given me much to think about, my son,” he said. Makar looked up at him, tears shining in his eyes. “You will wait for my judgment in Thule.”

“Thank you, Master.” It was the last thing he said before Erebos touched his head, sending him into the godsrealm.

“Ikalos,” he said to the room, and felt the attention of his general, still in Thule, turn toward him. “Watch this man. See that he isn’t consumed. But also see that he isn’t too comfortable.”

He left the back rooms and found Valerie still talking—no, not just talking, but drinking—with Abriel.

“Valerie,” he said, “let’s go.”

“But I’m—” she began, but he held up a hand as he brushed past her.

“Now.”

Once they were outside, he took her arm and transported them again. She stumbled, a bit from the alcohol, a bit from the shift, and then yanked herself out of his grip.

“I take it someone pissed you off,” she asked, glaring over at him. He ignored her. They were in the neighborhood where Makar had hidden the woman and her child. At first, he could sense nothing out of the ordinary, and then, slowly, he began to feel the child. Its energy was akin to his own, a powerful pulse that required an equally powerful spell to mask it. He started walking, only vaguely aware that Valerie was following behind him. The neighborhood was quaint and quiet, not a soul on the streets.

He stopped outside of a modest two-story townhouse. This was the one. Did the mother know he was coming? He reached out, testing the air around the place. He encountered no resistance. While the place had been sealed against entry by lesser beings, he sensed no spell that barred him specifically.

Perhaps Makar had been telling the truth.

“Who is it?” Valerie asked from beside him. “Who lives here?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “The woman had a child yesterday that belongs to me.” Valerie recoiled, but he clarified. “Not my child. She was impregnated by…” _One of the Nightmares of Thule_ , he almost said. “One of my subjects,” he said instead.

“Are you going to kill them?” He looked down at her, surprised. Was that what she thought of him?

“No.”

“Then why are we here?”

“They will be in danger here, in the mortal world. The child is powerful. And rare. Once they find out about it, they will all come.”

“Who is _they_?” He stayed silent. After a moment, she asked instead, “What are you going to do with them, then?”

“I haven’t decided.” Although an idea had been blooming in the back of his mind.

He pushed the front gate open. It wasn’t even locked. He wanted to tell Valerie to wait outside, but she went past him through the gate.

_Well_ , he thought, _it might be nice to have a woman with me._ He wasn’t exactly a comforting figure.

The front door was locked. Valerie started to knock, but he caught her hand before she could, shaking his head and putting a finger to his lips. It was the middle of the night; no sane woman would answer the door to a stranger at all, let alone one who knew she was being hunted, _let alone_ to someone like him.

He transported them past the front door and into the entry hall. The place was small and tidy. His first instinct was to go up the steps, but he paused, looking down the darkened hallway. He passed a sitting room, and then a small kitchen, and finally, at the back of the house, came to a family room.

There was a woman laid out on a bedroll in one corner of the room. She slept soundly, white wisps of hair hanging into her face. Even in her sleep, her face was turned toward the baby that lay beside her on its back.

It was a small thing, impossibly delicate. And yet he knew without a doubt this was the child he was seeking. He put a hand on Valerie’s shoulder— _stay here_ —and walked forward slowly, carefully. Neither mother nor child stirred as he approached.

Erebos picked the baby up slowly. It made a soft sound, shifted a bit, and then settled as he cradled it in his arms. Had he once been this small? He was so ancient that he couldn’t quite recall when or where he’d begun. He looked down into the child’s face and tried to recall his own childhood—more accurately his own time of immaturity.

His throat felt hot. Had he been cared for and protected and as deeply loved as this child already was?

The suddenness of his emotions surprised him. It had been so long since he’d seen a human child, he’d forgotten how powerful they were. It wasn’t just that this one possessed power from Thule. Even ordinary babies, he remembered, called out a primal instinct to protect, even in a being such as him.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of a gun cocking.

“Put her down.”

 

~

 

Valerie was so shocked by the clear emotions on Erebos’ face that she hadn’t even heard the footsteps coming toward them. When she heard the click of a gun, she looked over and put a hand to her mouth.

The man said something she didn’t understand, but which she could catch the gist of: put the baby down. He had a hunting rifle pointed at Valerie from across the room and he shook it as he spoke. Again, she inferred the meaning: let the baby go or I’ll kill your friend.

The woman on the floor was also awake now, and she was looking up at Erebos with a combination of fear and anger. The god’s back was to the man with the rifle, but he turned slowly, his dark eyes angry, almost dangerous. In a moment the tension shifted; the man dropped the gun and fell to his knees.

He bowed his head, making some kind of apology. Erebos responded, and the man looked at Valerie more closely, horror dawning on his face. Because he’d threatened her, and at the moment she was a holy woman?

She looked away, back at the woman on the floor. She was reaching behind her, reaching for—

“Look out!” Valerie said, but she had a small pistol in her hand and was pointing it at Erebos. Slowly, he raised a hand, and the two exchanged words. The other spoke up, going over to the woman. All the while, the baby slept, blissfully ignorant of all that was happening around it.

Finally, the woman lowered the pistol and began to cry. The man held her, and then nodded. Erebos said something, and a moment later, she heard (or perhaps felt?) a deep drumming in the air. And then there was a third man in the room with them. His voice was deep, commanding, and somewhat frightening. He wore a robe similar to the one Erebos had given to Valerie. She was glad that the new man (or, more likely, god) didn’t pay any attention to her.

He spoke to the woman for a time, and she seemed to calm. Erebos handed the baby back to her, and she held it close, kissing its face all over. It was stirring now, crying in the soft way only young infants cried. The new man touched the woman’s head, and she was gone. Erebos did the same to the man, and he, too, was gone.

There was a moment of silence, and then the new man glanced at Valerie as he spoke.

“Yes, this is Valerie,” Erebos said, switching to Valerie’s own language. The other man followed his example.

“It is…not proper, bringing her here, my brother. What if harm had come to her?”

“She’s fine. Right, Val? You doing okay?”

She nodded. _My brother_. So it was another god. Which one?

“She was threatened.”

“And yet she lives.”

She had absolutely no interest in being present while two gods argued over her, but there was nowhere to go.

“Finish it, little brother. Thule will need her energy in the time to come. You will, too.”

Erebos’ posture went straighter as fear flickered over his face. “What have you seen coming, Des?” he asked. So the other man was the god of Time, then. Valerie had heard he saw the present, the future, and the past all at once.

The god of Time’s face was masked, revealing no emotion.

“You are at a crossroads now. Complete the ritual. Do your duty.”

“What have you seen?” Erebos asked again, but the other god was gone already. Erebos cursed, punched at the wall. Valerie jumped.

_Complete the ritual_ , the other god had said. _Do your duty._ That command implied Erebos didn’t want to do it, not any more than she did. He hadn’t been lying to her when he’d said he wasn’t going to hurt or violate her. And yet that was a small comfort; clearly this wasn’t just between them. As Abriel had said, she was humanity’s payment for a pact that he was also bound by.

Neither of them moved. There was no sound save the god’s harsh and uneven breaths. Valerie realized that she was holding hers. She hoped this was a bad dream she’d wake up from. She wished, with a strength she hadn’t previously thought possible, to see Etienne again.

“We should go,” he finally said. He turned back to her, his face in a scowl. Impossibly, his eyes appeared darker than they had before.

Valerie backed away as he came toward her. She felt his hand on her arm and the shifting beneath her feet once more. He let go of her almost as quickly as he had grabbed her and walked away. She lost her balance, fell to her knees, and looked around.

They were back at the Allarston, but this one was different from the one from before. This one was surrounded by trees that crowded close and blocked off much of the sky. It was full dark, no stars shining above them, no light of the moon. And it was cold; she shivered even through the robe.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“The Allarston exists in every realm,” he said. “This one is mine.” He lit another cigarette and inhaled. “Welcome to Thule.”

 

~

 

Erebos looked at the girl from across the circle. She was breathing hard, properly scared of him again.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You heard my brother. To complete the ritual.”

She pulled the robe closer around herself.

_That will protect you from many things,_ he thought, _but it won’t protect you from me._

“So none of you have ever just…not gone through with it?”

“Not that I know of,” he said.

“They said you might reject and kill me.”

`“So that’s it?” she asked, looking around. The woods surrounding the Allarston were made specifically to induce fear and an air of mystery. He knew she wouldn’t flee into them. “All of that, this whole evening was just…what?”

“Think of it as foreplay,” he offered. “A day in the life of the Lord of Darkness. And this is how it ends. With you and me fucking.” He took a drag on the cigarette.

“You don’t want that,” she said. “You don’t want _me_.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “You’re too young. You’re unwilling. And even if you weren’t…” He thought of the woman he’d rather be with and grimaced. “But it’s not about you or me. We’ve both got a duty to forces larger than ourselves.”

“I will not have sex with you,” she said. There were tears in her eyes.

“You will. I can even make you like it.” He leaned back against the edge of his altar, crossing one ankle over the other. “Come here.”

Once more, her body responded to him without her consent. She stood, and he could see her fighting against it, trying to stop herself from moving closer. He pulled her in to him, making her straddle his legs, and pushed his robe off of her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.

“You’re a bastard,” she said.

“Yes, I know,” he said. His hands went to her neck, one of this thumbs brushing back and forth over her pulse point. It was meant to calm and hypnotize her, but she was too worked up, too frightened of him. He clenched his jaw. He’d just have to make her enjoy it the old fashioned way.

He pulled her in close until their mouths met. What started off as a soft brushing of his lips against hers soon became more intense. She struggled against him, trying to pull back against his mental and physical hold of her. When her mouth opened, he pressed his tongue into her, tasting, claiming. She bit down, hard, and he pulled away, laughing.

“Did you taste my blood, Val?” he asked with a smirk. She was trembling. “Did you like it?”

“I don’t like anything about you.”

He sighed. “That makes two of us.”

He kissed her again, and she bit him again, and he didn’t care. He liked it, reveled in the pain. He deserved it, for this and his thousand other fuckups: with his Clerics, with the child, with Bela. Val was a mortal, unable to hurt him in any substantial way, and he wanted to feel her anger as she took it out on him.

He stood and turned so that she was pressed back against the altar and he was leaning over her. He kissed down her jaw to her ear, her neck, her shoulders. His hands reached up to the front of her dress, and he gathered her breasts in his palms, feeling their weight and softness through the fabric. She bit his ear this time. He moaned and rolled his hips against her.

“Hit me, Valerie,” he whispered in her ear. “Scratch me, kick me, bite me. Do whatever you want to me.”

“You’re sick,” she said. She was pushing against him with all her strength. He barely felt it. As he pressed more kisses into her neck and collarbone, he pushed her shift up over her hips and put a hand between her legs. She tensed as he did, and he froze.

She wasn’t aroused in the least.

He stumbled back from her. She let out a sob, sliding down until she was sitting at the base of the altar. Her legs curled under her, and her hair hid her face from sight. His breathing was shallow, his skin crawling.

What the hell was he _doing?_ He knew she hadn’t been pretending or playing the part of the unwilling offering. She’d told him she didn’t want to have sex with him, and he’d seen when he’d first met her that her biggest fear was being raped. What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

He’d said he could make her like it, and he’d thought that was true. But she was unwilling, and maybe that was the key. She hadn’t come with resignation, she’d come here fighting the whole way; she hadn’t been brought here from a sense of duty, however fearful it might have been, but because she’d been sold. His other offerings might have been coerced into their role, but at least they’d made the decision to accept it.

That she’d been brought to him, an unwilling offering to an unwilling recipient, seemed a particularly cruel punishment. But was she the one being punished, for her reticence, or was he, for his failures?

Erebos looked over at her. He wanted to make her feel better in some way, but he didn’t know how. She wouldn’t want him near her; she wouldn’t want to be in his realm anymore. But the drug would make it difficult for him to take her home.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. The words felt so empty, his voice so hollow, in the stillness of Thule. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just…sorry.”

She said nothing. She didn’t move, not even as he approached. He grabbed his ceremonial robe from the ground and draped it over her legs. She looked up then, her eyes rimmed with red, her expression a mixture of rage and defiance. Even after what he’d just done, she was ready to fight him. He felt a level of respect for her that he’d rarely felt for anyone.

“Let me take you home,” he said softly, holding out a hand.

“I don’t want to go home,” she whispered.

He nodded; he knew where she wanted to go.

 

~

 

An hour later, in the light of the approaching sunrise, Erebos found his way back to the Allarston on earth. He fell to his knees; his exhaustion was all-encompassing. He trembled from head to toe. Taking the girl out of Thule and back to her human companion had required more energy than he’d been prepared to expend.

When he lifted his head, he found himself facing his own altar. He turned away, chasing away countless centuries of memories, violations large and small that corroded his soul. Did gods have souls?

On the other side of the circle, opposite his altar, was one of white marble, its symbols inlaid with gold. The sun was rising behind it. He forced himself to stand and stumbled toward it. He gasped as he felt its warmth radiating up his hand, into his arm and chest. It felt pure. It felt…like home.

He let his weight fall onto his arms, knelt in front of it with his head pressed against it.

“Bela,” he said softly. “Let me in.” He felt no response. He hadn’t the strength to demand entry. “Bela,” he said again, louder. There was a pulse beneath his forehead, a warm flicker of recognition. But nothing else.

His brother’s words flashed in his mind: _Perhaps if you were more comfortable in your role…_

Erebos shivered, feeling the last of his connection to Thule pooling in him. He called on that connection, spent the rest of his energy as he lifted his head.

“Bela!” he roared, drawing the word and his energy out as long as he could. His eyes were closed, but if they were open he would have seen his energy spreading out from him, a black wave carrying his demand off of earth and into the godsrealm.

Just as he finished calling for her, Beladorra, the goddess of Light, opened the way for him to her realm, and he disappeared.

 


End file.
